


and I know it's hard to tell but I think I really like you

by cupsofstardust



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crushes, Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Male My Unit | Byleth, White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29265696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupsofstardust/pseuds/cupsofstardust
Summary: "So? Are you?"Bernadetta balks. "Am I what?""Going to the ball!"
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley & Hubert von Vestra, Dorothea Arnault & Bernadetta von Varley, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	and I know it's hard to tell but I think I really like you

**Author's Note:**

> In the habit of just doing whatever the hell I want to!
> 
> Also mbyleth supremacy. idk if you've noticed but all of my fe3h fics are exclusively mbyleth and they will continue to be exclusively mbyleth because I adore him <3

There it is again. That terrible sound. 

_Knock knock knock._

Bernadetta pulls her knees to her chest and buries her face in them. She shouldn't be surprised; she misses class every week so of course the professor is here to yell at her. Oh Goddess, what if he kills her? Maybe, just maybe, if she's really really really _really_ quiet he'll give up and go away. She isn't home, no one's here—

No such luck. _Knock knock knock._

"Bernadetta." 

She looks up, the tension draining from her body. It's Hubert, it's just Hubert, he's...

"Dorothea took notes for you, and Caspar was wondering if you wanted to spar. I told him you didn't, but he is nothing if not persistent, so I must ask anyway."

She pushes herself up off her bed and slinks over to the door, silent as a mouse.

"Slide—slide the notes under the door. Please. And tell Caspar—"

Something pokes her in the foot and she looks down at a pile of papers.

"Of course. See you tomorrow, Bernadetta."

"Tomorrow?! But tomorrow isn't—"

Hubert's tone is firm. Not unkind, but firm. "I will see you tomorrow. No objections. Today was an inside day, tomorrow will not be. If you won't train with Caspar, at least do so with me. Bright and early, Bernadetta. Good night."

She leans her forehead against the door for a moment, resigned, and stares down at her socked feet and the pile of notes halfway under her door. Dorothea's neat penmanship stares back at her, pretty, loopy letters and little comments and smiley faces scribbled in the margins. 

It almost makes her smile, knowing that Dorothea cares enough to go the extra mile and explain things in her own words to help. Then she sighs; Hubert's right, she knows he is, and it's frustrating as all hell when he's right because he _also_ knows he's right.

After another moment, she kneels down and collects the papers, then returns to her desk to look over the professor's lecture and attempt to finish the assignment before tomorrow.

* * *

Another knock on the door rouses her and she sits bolt upright, batting at the paper stuck to her cheek and stumbling out of bed to look out the window.

"Oh no," she whines. "Oh no oh no oh _no,_ I'm late, Goddess—I'm so _stupid,_ I—"

"Bernadetta," Hubert calls from the other side of the door. "You are not late. _Yet."_

She breathes a sigh and runs a hand through her hair. Her fingers catch on tangles and knots and she winces. "Right," she mutters, mostly to herself. "Right. Okay. Clothes, I need to—"

It takes a few moments for her to find a clean uniform and put the others in the basket for the monks to collect, but then she's dressed and her hair is presentable, and she picks up her books and opens the door. 

Bright sunshine assaults her and she recoils a little. 

"Come," Hubert says crisply. "The professor is waiting. He is not a patient man, I fear. Far less patient than I."

She swallows. "Right. Let's-let's go then."

She closes the door behind her and Hubert leads the way down the steps and into the grass. It's still wet with morning dew; she can see it sparkling in the sun. It's surprisingly warm, too. It almost feels nice, the sunshine on her face, but there are too many—

"Breakfast?" Hubert interjects, one foot on the steps to the dining hall.

She jumps, a little startled. "Oh, uh, sure. Yeah, that sounds—that sounds nice."

"We do not have very long," he continues, leading the way up the stairs. He's very imposing, his dark silhouette against the pretty monastery. Intimidating, even though Bernadetta should know better. "But you should eat something. I didn't see you in the dining hall even once yesterday."

"I did go," she mumbles. "After dark."

"And I assume you had bread crusts and cheese rinds. Hardly fuel for a mouse, let alone you. Though you _are_ rather mousy..."

Bernadetta's cheeks heat. "Hey! I can hear you, y'know!"

"Quite," Hubert hums, passing her a cluster of grapes.

She fumbles with her books for a moment, freeing a hand to take it from him, and follows him back out into the courtyard with a mouthful of fruit. 

"Ferdinand told the professor that you were ill yesterday but I do not think he believed it to be true. Your excuses are wearing thin. I'm sure if you requested a separate lesson plan, he would be happy to oblige."

"Yeah, but..." She frowns, popping another grape into her mouth. "Wouldn't that just bother him?"

Hubert raises an eyebrow. "More than you skipping class? I hardly think so. You will choke if you continue speaking with food in your mouth."

She swallows her mouthful and frowns at the back of his neck.

"Enough pouting. Talking to the professor will not kill you."

"Will you come with me?" Naive hope bleeds into her voice.

"No." He grimaces. "Unfortunately, I am to work in the stables with Ferdinand after class, _again._ The professor must get some sort of sadistic joy out of pairing us up." He says it almost contemplatively, more to himself than to her, and she laughs a little.

"I'm sure the professor doesn't have an ulterior motive, Hubert. He just wants you to get along better."

Hubert lets out a hefty sigh as they reach the classroom. "We would get along much better if we didn't have to spend so much time together. He is infuriating at best, and utterly unbearable at worst."

"Hubie!"

Bernadetta catches him looking skyward, as if begging the goddess to make it end, and she cracks a tiny smile even as she shakes her head at him.

"Excuse me, Dorothea."

She doesn't move an inch, smiling sweetly at him. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" 

"Anywhere you are not." 

He steps around her and sits in his seat, leaving Bernadetta at her mercy. Unfazed, Dorothea slips an arm around Bernadetta's shoulders and leads her off to their table. She sits herself down on top of it, the toes of her shoes grazing the floor. 

"I hope my notes helped," she says, swinging her legs a little. "The professor talks pretty slowly so it was easy to get almost everything down on paper, but I wasn't sure if my additions were any good. Sorry if they distracted you."

Bernadetta chews the inside of her cheek. "They—they did. They did help. A lot. Thanks."

Dorothea beams. "I'm so glad! I—" She cuts herself off, eyes widening in surprise at something behind Bernadetta. "What is _he_ doing here?"

Bernadetta scrunches her brow in confusion and turns to find the professor walking into the classroom, a familiar redhead trailing behind him.

"Good morning," the professor starts, stepping up to his desk. "I'm sure you all know Sylvain. He'll be joining our class."

Sylvain follows him to the front and leans on his desk, an easy grin on his face. "Well, I just couldn't stay in the Blue Lions knowing how badly you wanted me here. Plus, I'll never say no to meeting cute girls."

As he says it, his gaze lands on Bernadetta and he winks. Her face burns; she buries it in her hands and wills herself to melt into the floor. Dorothea _hmphs_ beside her.

"Is he bothering you already, Bern?" She sounds annoyed; Dorothea never gets annoyed, about anything. "I swear, he is absolutely insufferable."

She huffs again, but before she can say anything else, the professor starts talking.

"Sylvain, pick a seat please so we can get started. I'm sure I don't have to catch you up; Hanneman told me he'd been teaching you this material."

He pushes himself away from the professor's desk languidly, eyeing the room. Bernadetta's grateful that the tables are too small for more than two people. Sylvain slides in next to Caspar, who immediately starts talking, and the professor clears his throat.

"On second thought," he starts, pointedly, and Bernadetta's stomach turns into knots. "Dorothea and Sylvain, switch seats."

Sylvain shrugs and stands and Dorothea frowns and also stands and Bernadetta stares at her hands curled in her skirt and curses the professor.

Dorothea puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fine, Bern. Just ignore him."

Easier said than done, Bernadetta thinks. Sylvain is impossible to ignore. Especially after—

_Your devoted fan, Sylvain._

She crosses her arms on the table and buries her face in them. The bench shifts and creaks beside her when Sylvain sits down and she fights the ridiculous urge to run away. Hubert will probably kill her if she misses class again, if the professor doesn't get to her first.

"Hey Bernadetta," Sylvain prompts.

She won't look up, she _won't._ That doesn't stop him though.

"Are you going to the ball?"

The ball? Why is he asking? Is he going to make fun of her if she says she isn't? She peeks over her arm to find him already looking at her and she opens her mouth to answer and nothing comes out.

"It's fine if you're not, I get it," he says after a moment, and then he turns to face the front of the room as the professor starts his lecture.

* * *

"So—hold on," Dorothea says, holding up a hand and putting her fork down. "He asked if you were going to the ball? What did you say?"

Bernadetta flounders. "I—I didn't say anything, I didn't know why he was asking and—"

Hubert sighs and Dorothea glares at him. "Isn't this the same Sylvain who called himself your—what was it?— _devoted fan?"_

Dorothea hums. "As our resident evil guy, Hubert _would_ know if Sylvain was up to something."

Hubert's hand stops halfway to his mouth and he raises an eyebrow. "Your resident what?"

She waves him off and leans over the table, her arms crossed under her. "So? Are you?"

Bernadetta balks. "Am I what?"

"Going to the ball!"

Her face heats. "Oh, I—I don't—I mean, what would I even wear, I—"

"I'm sure Lysithea or Annette have something you could borrow!" Dorothea suggests, clapping her hands together like she does when she's excited. "And I could do your hair and makeup! Oh, please Bern. If not for Sylvain then for me?"

Bernadetta chews her lip. Dorothea's eyes shine. She sighs. "Okay."

Dorothea cheers and hugs her across the table and Hubert rolls his eyes, even though Bernadetta swears she catches a brief smile cross his lips.

* * *

Bernadetta is regretting her decision.

She's been sitting in Dorothea's room since class ended having pins jabbed into her hair and powder brushed over her nose. A dress from Annette—a pretty, shimmery, pale golden thing—hangs on the back of the door.

Dorothea slips another pin into her hair and then lifts her hands slowly. "I think I'm done."

She starts to stand and Dorothea places a hand on her shoulder.

"Careful getting into your dress, okay? I'll be outside while you change, so let me know if you need help with anything."

On her way out, she hands Bernadetta the dress and closes the door behind her.

She rubs the cloth between her thumb and finger, then turns to look at her reflection in the little mirror Dorothea borrowed from Edelgard, because neither of them have one of their own. 

She looks... pretty. It feels weird to admit it, but Dorothea made her look pretty. For all the pain she endured, her hair is pinned back neatly, soft waves framing her face. Dorothea even used one of her own favorite pins to adorn it.

And the makeup...

Honestly, Bernadetta hardly recognizes herself.

She turns away and slips the dress from the hanger. Annette is about her size, so it'll probably fit. Maybe. If it doesn't, well. She won't have to go to the ball and see Sylvain and she won't even get the _chance_ to embarrass herself.

As she slips into it, she finds herself hoping it's too small.

It isn't.

Much to her chagrin, it fits perfectly, as though it had been tailored to her rather than Annette.

A knock sounds on the door. "Are you okay in there?" Dorothea calls.

"Yeah," Bernadetta answers, smoothing her hands down over the fabric nervously. "You can come in now, if you want to."

The door opens and Dorothea's expression melts. 

"Oh, Bern," she murmurs, her gaze sweeping from the floor to her face. "You look..."

Bernadetta's hands curl into fists in her skirts and she braces herself. "Ridiculous?"

"No! Beautiful! You look... _amazing,"_ she insists.

Her cheeks heat; she hopes it isn't too visible under the makeup. "Oh... Thanks. For doing all this."

Dorothea smiles, lifting one of the curls from her face and twirling it around her finger. "Of course. I would do anything for you."

"Do you need help getting ready?" Bernadetta asks, twisting her hands in her skirts. "I don't know much about makeup, or hair, but! You helped me, so it's only fair."

Dorothea sits at her desk and fluffs her hair, then hands her a brush over her shoulder. "Could you braid my hair for me? I'm no good at braiding it on my own."

While she starts on her makeup, Bernadetta sets to work brushing out Dorothea's hair and braiding it as neatly as she can. Dorothea hums quietly and sweetly while they work. When Bernadetta is done, she sits on Dorothea's bed and watches her finish her makeup, and then Dorothea is shooing her out so she can change.

It's a little chilly, but she doesn't take too long. The first few couples are just making their way towards the reception hall when the door opens behind her.

"So?" Dorothea asks. "How do I look?"

Bernadetta's eyes go wide. Her dress is a deep green silk, her bare shoulders dusted with gold.

"Gorgeous," she says, and Dorothea glows.

"Well, that's very sweet of you." She offers up her arm. "Shall we?"

After a moment, Bernadetta takes it.

Going to the ball on Dorothea's arm is... easy. _Surprisingly_ easy. 

No one even spares them a second glance, save Annette, who gushes endlessly about how beautiful they look before Lysithea drags her away to the reception hall, and Hubert, who offers them a nod and a brief wave before his attention is on Lady Edelgard again, though Bernadetta catches him almost-grinning at whatever Ferdinand is saying.

They waltz into the reception hall without so much as a batted eye. 

"Do you want a drink?" Dorothea asks, leaning in close so Bernadetta can hear her over the din.

She shakes her head, nervously scanning the room for Sylvain. "I'm fine."

Dorothea opens her mouth to say something else when the band starts to play. She looks at Bernadetta and raises a brow.

"May I have this dance?"

Despite the knots in her stomach, Bernadetta laughs. "You may."

Without delay, Dorothea whisks her onto the floor. She's good at leading, which Bernadetta supposes shouldn't surprise her. She _did_ belong to an opera company.

The music picks up and more couples join them on the floor, colorful skirts flaring and blurring around them.

Dorothea spins them right into Prince Dimitri as he dances with Mercedes, laughing and calling an apology as they stumble away.

Dimitri only smiles at the two of them, and Mercedes laughs and waves as they glide away. Bernadetta's face heats and she turns her attention back to Dorothea.

When the song starts to slow, Dorothea twirls her into a dip and she yelps and Dorothea laughs and she's _radiant._ She feels herself smiling, despite how exposed she feels. 

"Happiness suits you," Dorothea says sweetly, and Bernadetta averts her eyes. Unfortunately, now she has a clear view of Sylvain coming towards them. Her heart jumps in her chest. She had almost forgotten about him. _Almost._

He taps Dorothea's shoulder and she turns and he grins easily, so easily, like the expression was made for his face and his face alone, and he asks, "Mind if I cut in?"

Dorothea stares at him for a second, then looks at Bernadetta, a question in her eyes, and a reassurance, as well.

"Just one dance. Please," he continues, downy-soft, looking at her with melted-chocolate eyes like Dorothea isn't standing right there. Like she's the only person in the room. She thinks she might faint if it weren't for Dorothea holding her up.

"Okay," she says, quietly, and then louder, "Okay, just—just one dance."

He smiles at her, radiant and sweet and _happy,_ happier than she's ever seen him and it's a little intoxicating, to have that smile focused on her. He takes her hand and anticipation zips up her spine and everything else melts away, save the music.

It's him, it's Sylvain in half a suit, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his tie hanging around his neck, and it's her, it's Bernadetta in a pretty dress with her hair falling out of its meticulous updo. She almost laments Dorothea's hard work.

His other hand rests against the curve of her waist, impossibly warm and gentle, and she places hers on his shoulder, and he leads and she follows and it isn't perfect, it's not, because Bernadetta stumbles and almost trips on her skirts and her face burns with embarrassment but Sylvain doesn't make fun of her, no. He laughs, and his eyes shine with something she's afraid to name because if she does it might disappear.

If Bernadetta were a little more naive she would say this was a fairytale. If Bernadetta thought herself a princess, she might say that Sylvain is her prince.

"You look beautiful," he says, and it sounds like he means it.

Bernadetta's head spins. "Um," she says, and he laughs a little.

"It's true," is all he says in response, a smile tugging at his lips, and he swiftly shifts his step as the song changes.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. One thing Bernadetta knows for certain is that Sylvain gets more than just one dance out of her. Another thing she knows for certain is that she doesn't actually mind that much.

It's... fun. 

By the time the ball starts to wind down, her feet are aching. It must be obvious because Sylvain stops on the way out of the reception hall and asks if she's okay.

"I'm fine!" she insists. "Really! I just—it's these shoes, I'm not—"

"Take them off," he suggests, and her face heats.

"I can't do that!" she exclaims. "What if the dress gets dirty? My stockings will be ruined, I—"

"Bernadetta," he interrupts gently, a mirthful lilt to his voice. She stops and looks at him. "The world won't end because you took your shoes off. I promise. I'll even tell Annette that it was my fault if the dress gets dirty, _and_ I'll clean it for her."

Bernadetta just stares at him. "You're ridiculous," she murmurs, and then she leans against the wall and takes her shoes off.

The ground is cool under her feet, the grass tickling her ankles. She's sure she looks like a mess, her hair falling from its updo and her heels dangling from her fingers, but when Sylvain drops her off at her dorm and smiles at her, she's never felt more beautiful.

"Thank you, Sylvain," she says, leaning against her door with one hand on the knob, and she's surprised to find that she means it. Of course she does, it's Sylvain, but—she _means it_ means it.

"Goodnight, Berna," he says, and before she can say anything else he leans in and kisses her cheek.

She stands there for too long after he's gone, her cheek tingling and her heart racing.

"Berna," she echoes, her voice small, and she can't help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not _super_ super into syldetta like I think they're cute and they deserved an A support but. I just had an idea and I decided to write it. I'm on a crusade to just start knocking out my wips one by one instead of procrastinating.
> 
> I really genuinely hope everyone can tell just how much I enjoy Hubert and Bernadetta's dynamic (even though I am still unsure about how I want to write Bernadetta 😓). Really just beagles dynamic in general. Black Eagles best house I think! Also I am absolutely going to push my dorothea & sylvain agenda in the future they make me nuts in the head
> 
> Anyway, I hope you syldetta likers enjoyed this! The title is from Dance with Me by beabadoobee! Comments and kudos are nice, thanks <3
> 
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tifaIoveheart)


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